‘Because you are?’
‘Yes, that, and I have very cold feet.’
‘Well, just don’t go putting them on my back.’
‘Can’t make any promises.’
He sat down on the edge of the bed and yawned through his chuckle. The journey had been so tiring he didn’t really care where he slept. And Clara was a friend – not actually his date. If he just kept telling himself that, they’d be fine. ‘I should text Mum and let her know I’m here, and that we’ll see her tomorrow.’
‘Good idea. I’ll message my sister and tell her we made it.’
Sam typed out his message.
Arrived safe. Cottage is cosy. See you tomorrow. Love you xx
Then another one to his sister:Got here fine, looking forward to seeing you. Tell Alisha and Mina their favourite uncle is here. xx
Once he hit send, Sam set his phone down and glanced over his shoulder to where Clara stood by the window, her own phone in hand. The light outside had faded completely now, the world beyond the glass turning to a deep, soft grey.
‘I’ll get the bags in,’ he said, pushing up from the bed.
The air outside was still and heavy, the kind of quiet that made every sound seem amplified. A faint breeze stirred the branches of a nearby tree, but otherwise, the night was motionless. When he opened the boot, the sharp click of the latch cracked through the silence.
By the time he came back in, Clara had the kettle on.
‘Shall we have a hot chocolate or something before bed?’ she asked, reaching for a row of sachets on a high shelf.
‘Yeah, ok. Just a little one though – I’m pretty wasted.’
He carried their bags into the bedroom, dropped them by the wall, then returned to find her stirring the drinks. She passed him a mug with a smile, and he wrapped his fingers around the warmth. His gaze caught hers and, for a moment, neither of them looked away.
Her pupils were wide, dark, reflecting the low lamplight as she took a sip. Sam’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say – or do – but it was impossible to look anywhere else. The connection between them pulsed, raw and magnetic, spreading through him like wildfire.
He’d once told a group of students off for using the phraseeye-fuckingabout each other, but now he understood exactly what they’d meant – and god, it was intense.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. Did I say something?’ He frowned and took a sip of his hot chocolate.
She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. I thought…’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘I don’t know what I thought.
He gave a tiny shrug. ‘We must be tired.’ He sank into the sofa in the small living area and drank his hot chocolate. When it was done, he put the mug on the side table and rested his head back. ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m going straight to bed.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’ She lifted his mug and put it and hers into the sink.
Sam brushed his teeth in the cramped little bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The light was harsh, showing every line around his eyes, every strand of grey creeping through his hair. It wasn’t a youthful face staring back at him – not anymore.
He spat, rinsed, and rested his hands on the edge of the sink. Thoughts of dating had barely crossed his mind since things ended with Olive.
But what if?
For a moment, his mind wandered down a path he usually kept firmly closed. What sort of person might he even appeal to now? Someone his own age, perhaps – someone with a similar history or an equal amount of baggage. Or someone older.
He gave a quiet, humourless laugh. He certainly wouldn’t appeal to anyone younger – like Clara.
And yet… she’d agreed to the fake date, so she obviously didn’t see it as something too far-fetched.
When he got to the bedroom, Clara was dressed in a baggy pale blue nightshirt with sleepy foxes printed on it. ‘Very cute,’ he said.
